


Your Wings Extend

by lakehymn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakehymn/pseuds/lakehymn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time and time again, Enjolras has shown tolerance towards Grantaire’s tendency to interrupt meetings with loud, drunken ramblings, and to while away the hours playing games when he’s meant to be doing his duties. Against his better judgment, he allows Grantaire to stay with them, and for that, Grantaire owes him an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Wings Extend

**Author's Note:**

> I started this with the intention of writing Brick!Enjolras, but I think he ended up being a conglomeration of book, movie, and stage musical, and there were actually some parts where I was definitely picturing David Thaxton. Hopefully it worked out anyway!

Throughout the course of the evening, the talking and laughing that’s been taking place downstairs on the first floor of the Cafe Musain has steadily grown quieter and quieter, and eventually even the rowdiest patrons decide to take their leave for the night, after the entirety of the group has agreed amongst themselves that more fun could be had elsewhere. The door slams shut behind them as they depart, and then soft murmurs are all that can be heard by those on the second floor.

The sudden hush that follows the door slam is what finally alerts Enjolras, who had been working steadily for the last several hours, to how late it’s gotten. He turns to Combeferre, the only remaining member of Les Amis apart from himself, and says, “Perhaps you should go home and rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Combeferre nods. “I was just thinking the same,” he replies, and begins collecting his belongings together. He buttons up his jacket and takes a step down the stairs, before turning to face Enjolras and remarking, “You ought to keep your own advice in mind.”

“I won’t be much longer now,” Enjolras assures him.

“Good,” Combeferre responds, and then makes his way downstairs.

After that, Enjolras returns to what he’d been working on, and becomes so absorbed in it that he loses track of time and of his surroundings. It is only when he hears a voice say, “It’s getting late. What are you still doing here?” that his focus is broken.

He looks up, and Grantaire is standing before him with a warm smile on his face, no doubt caused by the bottle in his hand.

“I have work to do,” Enjolras tells him. “But what about you? I thought you’d left hours ago.”

“I left your meeting,” Grantaire replies, “but remained at the Cafe.”

“Perhaps you should have left both.”

Grantaire shrugs half-heartedly. “Perhaps. Nevertheless, you should rest soon.”

Despite his earlier promise to Combeferre that he would do just that, Enjolras feels irritated by the counsel. Grantaire has no right to advise others on their business when he himself does nothing at all. 

“I have work to do,” Enjolras repeats. “Therefore, I would be most grateful if you would leave me in peace.” He gestures to the stairway.

“The people of France have already waited this long for their freedom,” Grantaire responds. “Surely they can wait until tomorrow, at least?”

“Though I know you to be incapable of sincerity, the people _will_ have freedom from tyranny, and soon,” Enjolras says, before adding, “Even without any help from you.”

“And I suppose you will not rest even for a moment until we are all ruled only by the general will, or some other such nonsense.”

“Regardless of your opinions on how we ought to be ruled, everyone deserves equality—” Enjolras begins.

“And explicit consent to their government, yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before,” Grantaire dismisses. “But even Jean-Jacques needed sleep every now and then.”

Enjolras sighs, reluctantly conceding defeat. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

He writes one last note and then stands, and after collecting his papers together, he makes to leave, but Grantaire’s hand is suddenly on his arm, stopping him.

“Enjolras.”

Enjolras turns and looks at him expectantly, and then asks, “What is it?” when Grantaire doesn’t say anything more.

Grantaire shakes his head and draws his hand back. “Never mind.” 

Enjolras crosses his arms over his chest, standing his ground, and says, “It must have been important. Tell me.”

“It was nothing,” Grantaire counters. “I simply wished to bid you goodnight, and to tell you that I will see you tomorrow.”

He nods once, clearly expecting Enjolras to be done with it, but after a moment’s silence, Enjolras’ frustration gets the better of him, and he asks, “And why, pray tell, will you return tomorrow?”

“Pardon?” Grantaire responds, taken aback.

“You heard me,” Enjolras says. “You contribute nothing to our meetings, and today you went so far as to leave early merely to drink. As you have told us on numerous occasions, you have no use for our goals or our ideals. Why do you come? What do you hope to gain from this?”

“What do I hope to _gain_?” Grantaire echoes back incredulously. “What was it that Homer wrote? ‘Without a sign his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen but his country’s cause.’ But, of course, I am not a brave man.”

“Homer did not have the likes of you in mind when he wrote of fighting for one’s country,” Enjolras agrees. “So you come to mock, and will not stand with us when the time comes?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You misunderstand me,” he explains. “I will be there, though I do have a sign—in you. And my omen? Your command. Anything you wish me to do, I will do.” He places the bottle he’s been holding onto the table, and then he lowers his head and falls to his knees at Enjolras’ feet. “What would you have of me?”

“I would have you quit making a spectacle of yourself,” Enjolras snaps, gripping Grantaire’s forearm and pulling him back up.

“I will try,” Grantaire replies solemnly as he gets back to his feet.

On the upper floor, the two are as good as alone together, yet Enjolras is discomfited by the display even so. Perhaps it is because of, not in spite of, the fact that it was meant only for his benefit that he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Grantaire, you are impossible to predict and even harder to comprehend.”

Grantaire sighs. “I know.”

“Then help me to understand you.”

“You don’t know what you ask,” Grantaire responds, looking away.

Time and time again, Enjolras has shown tolerance towards Grantaire’s tendency to interrupt meetings with loud, drunken ramblings, and to while away the hours playing games when he’s meant to be doing his duties. Against his better judgment, he allows Grantaire to stay with them, and for that, Grantaire owes him an answer.

Enjolras reaches up and grips Grantaire’s chin between his fingers, forcing Grantaire to meet his eyes. 

“So teach me,” he commands sharply.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment, and then Grantaire takes a deep breath and surges forward, closing the distance between their lips. Enjolras lets out a surprised gasp, but Grantaire pays it no mind as he clutches the back of Enjolras’ neck with both hands, as if to pull him somehow closer. Grantaire’s mouth tastes of wine, and his jaw is rough where he had forgotten to shave. Moments later, he stumbles backward as though he’s been hit.

“Forgive me,” he breathes, looking so surprised that one might think _he_ had been the one to be kissed unexpectedly. “I had not meant to reveal— _that_.”

“Explain yourself,” Enjolras demands, quickly losing patience with what he suspects is one of Grantaire’s drunken antics.

“Please, Enjolras, forget it, for how can I explain to you what I have trouble explaining even to myself?”

“Try.”

“Very well,” Grantaire responds, resigned and carefully avoiding Enjolras’ eyes. “However foolish it may be, I find myself longing to be yours and yours alone. I would be your Pylades, your Nisus, your Patroclus and your Hephaestion most of all—if only you would have me.”

Grantaire says all this reluctantly, as though uttering each word is a chore, and Enjolras suddenly regrets forcing the truth out of him. It seems he had been correct after all, when he told Enjolras he didn’t know what he asked.

“‘One soul abiding in two bodies,’” he quotes absently.

“Something like that,” Grantaire murmurs.

“You know I am unable to give you that, Grantaire,” Enjolras tells him, as gently as he knows how.

“I know,” Grantaire states, a wry smile on his face, though he is still taking great care to look nowhere but at a spot someplace above Enjolras’ left shoulder. “If I may, I would like to remind you that I was only attempting to explain myself.”

“That you were,” Enjolras admits.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable and strained, and Enjolras would like to say something to fill it, though he doesn’t know what. But eventually Grantaire mutters, “I should go. It’s getting late.” 

He lingers for a moment, and in that moment, Enjolras thinks of saying, “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t. Instead, he takes one of Grantaire’s hands in his own and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss against Grantaire’s knuckles.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Enjolras declares. 

Grantaire glances uncertainly at his own hand, which Enjolras has just let go of, before he says, “You would have me back, even after I—”

“Of course I would,” Enjolras interrupts calmly. “Think no more of it.”

The smile that Grantaire gives him then is small, but genuine, and Enjolras can’t help but be somewhat relieved. Though often vexed by Grantaire, he has no desire to see him despondent, and after tonight, feels he must bear some responsibility for him.

“Sleep well,” Grantaire tells him, and with great haste, at last takes his leave from the Musain.


End file.
